


Pulse

by Lacertae



Category: Homestuck
Genre: I seriously don't know how to tag this one, Masturbation, Other, Water Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Kankri solo* It started simply because he had a slight stomachache.</p><p>Written for the kink meme to the prompt</p><p>“Kankri will take an empty bottle and fill it with hot water. He’ll lie back and lay it against his nook. He doesn’t really think of it as masturbation, just a very pleasant thing he does occasionally, even if he does sometimes find himself softly grinding against the bottle when he’s not paying too much attention.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulse

**Author's Note:**

> Just some friction!pwp

It had started simply because he’d been having a bit of stomach ache.

Ghosts should have been immune to sickness, as far as he was concerned, but he guessed that since they had dragged some of their disabilities –labels fluttering into his mind, warning for trigger even if he wasn’t strictly speaking to anybody– into death (like Latula’s unfortunate lack of nasal functions), he needed to be more open to whatever could happen in dreambubbles.

They were used to living there (or ‘non–living’, or any other form of the term that wouldn’t be ableist), but they only knew how to work around with the basics.

Still, being on the receiving end of a stomach-ache had been an unpleasant surprise, but he had felt worse, so he decided to bear the pain and demonstrate that he could still function, without having to trigger any of his friends by mentioning something related to sub-abdominal pains.

After a few hours of shuffling around, unable to stand still due to the pangs of pain, though, Kankri’s mood had quickly turned sour, which had been apparently a trigger to the rest of his companions because for the rest of the day they had avoided him like the plague, whereas he knew they liked having him around.

Mindful of their desires not to be triggered –and willing to put them before his own need to have some company while in pain– Kankri had decided to stay inside his hive, determined to find a position that wouldn’t hurt him too much.

Such intention had been hard to accomplish.

Standing made his lower stomach hurt, so much he had to keel over, and he didn’t quite like having to stay sprawled on his couch-pile, because he felt sort of useless and just miserable.

Not having enough strength to do much else, though, he resorted to stay put, a blanket covering his shoulders, pathetically curling up on himself, waiting for the pain to subside.

At one point, Porrim decided to send him a small bubble message, trying to be annoying as usual and wondering if he was feeling ok –no, he wasn’t– and if he required her presence with some hot soup –he sort of did, but didn’t want to be babied, thus be potentially triggered by her fussing– and to his disgruntled negation she simply suggested him to get something warm for his stomach, like a heated compress or a boule of hot water.

Since he didn’t have a boule, nor did he have any idea what one was, Kankri decided to go for the second best, which was an actual bottle filled to the brim with scorching hot water.

After shuffling around with it, burning his fingers and trying to find a comfortable position for the bottle, he found himself quite pleased when the cramps lessened considerably, soothed by the warmth.

With the pain receding into a soft dull throbbing, curled up on his pile-couch and his muscles slowly relaxing, Kankri almost let himself doze off, snuggling into the pleasant heat.

The next day the pain had disappeared, but he’d found another use for the hot water bottle –since sometimes the dreambubbles switched seasons, turning his house sectors into a cold land covered with triggering white texture that would be appalling for whoever happened to not be able to enjoy it, having something warm to curl around was pleasant.

More than just that, but Kankri’s thoughts on the matter were biased.

The warmth settled on his belly and against his covered nook, making his nerves tingle in a way that felt good in a sort of detached way, a solid shape pressed against his lower body that was almost reassuring, unmovable.

Soon he started falling into the habit of preparing the hot bottle even when the weather outside was not chilly; it didn’t happen all that often, just whenever he started feeling a little stressed, or far too annoyed after an entire day of making sure things rolled fine and nobody got harassed, but it was still a pleasant thing to do.

Preparing the bottle of water turned into a little ritual for him –void of any sort of religious trigger warning, though– and one that was just as enjoyable as the act of laying down with it.

He’d put a pot filled to the brim with water and then busied himself with doing something else, though his mind was always on the water, impatiently waiting for it to boil.

Bubbles didn’t work like their world did, so the time it took for water to boil could be lessened into a mere second, but Kankri hated to exploit that cheat, and simply waited it out. The waiting was part of the ritual, and it just made him the more glad when he finally could pour the water inside the bottle.

Feeling its heat against the palms of his hands was another small pleasure of his, and how it travelled down to his arms as he walked to his pile, shivering slightly at the thought that soon he would be curled there to relax.

The moment the bottle slid between his thighs was satisfying, too –a little bit too hot, almost burning, making him want to pull away but also to buck into it, and yet pleasant like nothing else was, heavy and present, almost like a body, but different enough that the comparison was null.

Relaxing was easy then, his thoughts scattered, no need to focus on anything in particular, simply enjoying the heat until it made his back tingle too much, until he felt the need to do something –shift slightly, move, wriggle a bit– and then there was just a little bit too much pressure.

His hips would jut up, pressing more into the bottle, his knees would shift slightly, trying to part but at the same time close onto the bottle, and he would wriggle some more, enjoying the smooth surface of the bottle as it slid against his nook from above his pants.

The water inside it sloshed softly, and the sound was pleasant too.

Kankri knew how his body worked, and knew that the feeling of heat and weight against his lower body wasn’t properly something he should be doing –at least, not technically– but it was still within the scope of things that helped him relax, and it was pleasant, enough that when he let his thoughts wander too much, he’d find himself unable to stop the soft rocking.

There was a growing ache in his lower body, and completely unlike the stomach-ache that had first caused this routine to happen; it was pleasant, but almost too alluring, almost too much.

The soft rubbing between his legs was addicting, and that word was triggering, but even then Kankri found it hard to stop; moving and shifting slowly, methodically, dragging out the pleasure and forcing himself to keep the same pace, he would continue for as long as he could.

He always took his time to enjoy the pressure, the heat, until it was gone.

The water cooled down quickly, leaving him tingly and unsatisfied almost every time, with an ache inside him that he could barely push down.

He could feel the silent, slow curling of his bulge inside him, awakened by the pressure outside, but he never let it slip out, steering all of his attention on holding it back, and when the warmth dissipated enough, he forced himself to stand up, relaxed but with a knot that he couldn’t satisfy still tight in his body.

Most of the time, he would cycle through this pleasure by denying himself, wound up and tight and refusing to let go.

Until he got to the point where he could _not_ stop himself.

When the coils of stress inside him made him too tense, and the pressure against his nook was far too compelling for him to deny himself a bit of a relief.

The smooth side of the bottle turned to be far too pleasant, so hot and heavy against him, and he met the soft sloshing of the water inside with his hips, grinding up with a soft whine bubbling from the depths of his throat.

Kankri didn’t even need to do much –the soft friction was maddeningly sweet, so much he got lost in the simple motion, no need to press down on the bottle with his hands, no need to do much except continue shifting, more with a purpose than just idly wanting to feel its length against him.

The heat felt good, so good, and it was hard to keep his bulge sheathed inside him, when the folds of his nooks rippled under his pants, almost seeking purpose, or more pressure, but Kankri still had tight control over it, and it never did slip out.

Not even when his rocking motions turned needier, when his soft whining shifted into a deep purr, eyes fluttering close and throat bared into nothing, arching his back and holding onto the sides of his couch, fingers digging into the soft material to prevent them from venturing elsewhere.

He tilted his hips slightly, letting the bottle press fully against him, the heels of his feet digging into the couch, arching up slightly, just a bit, and enjoyed the rush of pleasure, mouth parted in a soundless gasp.

The heat from the bottle was still alluring, burning up between his legs, but now the rest of his body was burning up at the same time, a flustered blush reaching down from his cheeks to his neck, muscles tense, twitching and shivering as he continued his needy, soft grinding.

Kankri gasped again, speechless for once, nails digging into the couch, so tight he almost felt the material rip under his hold, but continued pressing down softly, aching for more of the dizzying heat.

He threw his head back, body slumped down, and undulated his hips against the bottle.

It was building up slowly, like water filling up a vase, and he closed his eyes, biting down on his lower lip with a soft whine.

Pleasure moved languidly down from his aching nook to his feet, burning up to his hands, making him trembled even harder, and Kankri felt the tip of his bulge slip out of control, pressing against the folds of his nook, rubbing against the front of his pants, meeting the bottle’s surface and rubbing the underside of the tip against it–

With a soundless moan, Kankri felt the knot tighten and then snap, release washing over him, pulsating through his body as his nook contracted and relaxed quickly, genetic material running down his thighs, soaking the inside of his pants, then dripping into his pile-couch, staining it.

Kankri gasped, boneless and feeling the aftershocks of pleasure making his skin tingle, and let his thoughts scatter further, fingers relaxing their grip on the couch, twitching a bit at the last sparkles finally dulled into a soft, pulsating afterglow.

With a shuddery gasp, Kankri felt the first wave of embarrassment roll inside his chest, and determinedly pushed it down, not wanting to deal with it.

The bottle between his thighs was still warm, and he felt too lethargic to move, so he wriggled into his couch, trying to ignore the wet, cold feeling of genetic material inside his pants, and listened to the rhythmic sound of his bloodpusher slowing out.

In a bit, he would stand up, clean himself and then wipe his pile-couch clean, despite knowing he could just visualize a new one –the manual labour made him feel better, cleansing his own mishap on his own, erasing all proof– and then he would empty the bottle and clean it before captchaloguing it away.

He would feel marginally better, more relaxed, more at ease, and at the same time feel guilty for what he’d done.

And then the cycle would commence again.


End file.
